


Higher Dimensional Travel

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Episode: s02e13 Doomsday, Reunion Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haunted by words left unsaid, the Doctor recruits help to get Rose back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher Dimensional Travel

**Author's Note:**

> For [fairies-never-blink](http://fairies-never-blink.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, who requested a post-Doomsday reunion!fic. My first time writing one, so I hope you like it! Sorry I went a little over the word limit. But, what can I say! It's me :P

He can’t sleep, for a few weeks after finding that supernova. She’s always waiting for him when his eyes finally manage to close, red eyes and pink cheeks and falling tears. Without the bustle and chaos he usually surrounds himself with, all he can hear is the way her sobs are strangled by desperation and the chilled ocean breeze as she tells him she loves him.

And of course she does. He just never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear it from her lips. Or even worthy to receive this most powerful human sentiment, to hear such a sincere and passionate confession from anyone. Let alone the one person that, paradoxically, he reciprocates said feelings for, against every admonition of reason and logic in his massive, incompatible alien head.

It’s fitting, he supposes, that this is how it has to end. That this simple, but beautiful arrangement of three words will haunt him, rather than comfort him, every time he remembers her. This incarnation was born yearning for deeper intimacy than simple companionship, but he doesn’t deserve it from her, and never has. He should never have allowed the newly overwhelming craving for affection to manifest physically.

A dream of soft blonde hair and smooth curves and gentle laughter startles him awake about a month later. His arm reaches for the other side of the bed, pats down the empty sheets next to him in a futile search for her memory, tears rolling down his cheeks, but of course his hand comes up empty.

He wishes he’d told her, that first night he held her.

\---

_“Night, Doctor,” Rose mumbled as she rolled off the couch and dragged her feet to the door of the library. Her eyelids had been drooping for a while now, he should’ve seen this coming. He forgot to ask how long she went without sleep before successfully resurrecting him from that stone._

_“What, is that it?” he called after her._

_“’s ‘at it wha’?” she repeated, words slurring together, rubbing her eye with her fist as she turned around._

_“Umm, I mean… going to sleep already?”_

_“Yeah, ‘m tired.” She fought to open her eyes wide, forcing herself more awake._

_“Well, I mean, I just maybe thought…” Was he so addicted to her attention that he’d come to this, keeping her awake simply for the sake of her company?_

_Well, it wasn’t just company he was after tonight, and he knew it. He wanted a second kiss, rather distractingly, and his opportunity to take one was about to pass._

_Concerned for him as usual, she made her way back to the couch and collapsed back down, snuggling up against him and resting her head on his shoulder._

_“What is it, Doctor.”  It wasn’t a question, but a demand to tell her what was on his mind. One he was very familiar with._

_He should have just let her go to bed, and go on thinking kissing was only an acceptable display of affection after a near-death experience. But his self-control disintegrated next to her warmth and the vanilla and strawberry scents of her shower. Now that he’d tasted her lips minus the essence of Cassandra all he could think about was doing it again._

_He tapped on her chin with his index finger until she looked up at him, and he pressed his lips to hers, soft but insistent. Her jaw was tense against his as she sucked in a breath of surprise so he pulled back, prepared to explain himself._

_But her hands grasped the back of the neck and pulled his mouth back to hers. Tentative touches, at first. She was curious, testing how his lips felt against hers, and he didn’t mind letting her take the lead._

_She made this sound, after several moments, a quiet sigh of contentment in the back of her throat, pleasure and a faint promise he’d never be alone again. Her mouth was so soft and warm against his, remnants of spearmint just barely tingling on his lips._

_His hand came to rest on her cheek and all of her distinctly human enthusiasm bubbled to the surface, turned her kisses ravenous. Like he was all she wanted but she couldn’t get enough of him at once. Always wanted more._

_His lips pressed harder against hers, more of his teeth on her neck, her fingers deeper in his hair, his hands further underneath her shirt. Every moment wanted more. Demanded more. Took more._

_It all happened too fast from there, inebriated as he was with the taste of her skin, senses and time blurred by the foreign closeness. He’d forgotten how overwhelming it was, physical intimacy with a human._

_He doesn’t remember how she wound up spread on the couch underneath him, tugging him down by his tie and marking him as hers. Their eyes sought the silent reassurance that the desire was mutual as the TARDIS dimmed the lights. Frantic hands fumbled with buttons and zippers and clothes swished to the library floor._

_But they were both quiet, save for the sighs of relief and bliss._

_The only word she spoke was his name, gasped in hot breaths against his shoulder._

_The only one he spoke was hers, whispered against her forehead as he gave himself over to her._

_But he fell asleep, even naked and damp and stuffy under the afghan that he’d draped over them, because when she was cuddled in his arms and her head was nestled against his chest, all was right with the world._

_\---_

It’s a few months after trying everything that doesn’t break his stupid, self-inflicted, morally righteous rules that he remembers Time Lords weren’t the only beings in existence capable of higher-dimensional travel.

He has to track them down, the Ch’Kizor. They don’t tend to stay in one place (mainly, because they don’t _like_ being tracked down). They’re aggressive little gray avianoids, particularly arrogant. He certainly doesn’t relish the thought of having to butter them up for a favor, but he’s become confident enough in a year-plus with Rose that he actually believes if anyone can persuade them, it’s the one and only Doctor.

He only has to think of a way to convince them that they’ll get some benefit out of the deal, or else a way to repay them another way.

It might take him some time.

So he rebels against time, hovering in the vortex for days while he works, convincing himself it means no more time is passing for Rose, wherever she’s trapped behind walls that are impenetrable to three-dimensional beings such as himself.

He doesn’t like to sleep, not while he works. But when he closes his eyes for a minute of rest from history books and equations, dreams still dance behind his eyes. About what it’ll be like to finally touch her again, to use his sleeve to wipe her tears rather than helplessly watch her use hers. To gather her in his arms and kiss her like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get, and whisper in her ear what he never said. Or maybe just shout it. He wonders what it’d sound if she said them back, without the harsh wind trying to rip away words already choked by tears.

It wasn’t like they slept together every night, far from it. The crippling fear of losing her drove him away from her some nights, guilt for taking advantage of someone as young and unpolluted on others. Over time, he’d managed to convince himself that every time he touched her, her skin was more stained with the blood on his hands, that with every selfish intimate night another of his demons crept into her soul, slipping through mental barriers that were weakened enough by her intense affection to leave a weak telepathic hum. And it felt too impossibly good for him to even think of patching the cracks with drywall.

She would confront him about it; he would stiffen his jaw and take a vow of silence. She’d cry (though she’d always fight it as long as she could); he’d apologize and list off all the reasons he was terrible for her. She’d forgive him; he’d gather her in his arms until her eyes were dry. He’d only ever want to take all her pain away, so he’d kiss her. And, well, not long after after she’d fall asleep with her head against his chest.

The unhealthy cycle went on. And it was all his fault. He wished he’d never kissed her in Rome, he wished he could be a human for her, he wished he wasn’t so incredibly selfish that he ranked his fear of losing her over her desires. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another person in his life, but he didn’t know what to do to keep her with him forever. So they toiled stuck in a limbo of quasi-romance, and he often thought it was easier when they were just friends, and there was only laughter and hand-holding and he didn’t have to see the tears he caused rolling down her cheeks.

But making love to Rose Tyler once isn’t enough. As long as she was with him he’d always come crawling back for more.

But she never revealed the intensity of her affection aloud, though he knew she was biting the words back every time. They were there for him, too. In a different tongue, a more powerful and articulate tongue, and it was deeper, for him. Not just stuck in his throat, but buried in a room of his mind that’d been dead-bolted for years to protect his fragile hearts.

He’s wondered every day she’s been gone if she knows he always felt the same.

When he accidentally falls asleep against the console, he dreams about the last night he held her.

He wishes he’d told her that last night, too.

\---

_“I really thought I’d lost you today.” Her fingers were deep in his hair and squeezing his jaw like she was trying to convince herself he was really there._

_“Not today.” The whisper was somber in the air, the approaching storm still haunting his thoughts. She tugged him down by his hair and her lips closed over his, mustering a strength he’s never felt from her before to claim her possession of him for the night._

_“Never do that to me again,” she gasped between her rushed, anxious kisses. “Not ever.”_

_He growled against her lips, a flash of anger and terror lighting in his gut that she continued to use words he was uncomfortable with._

_“I’m not gonna leave you, Rose. But you’re gonna leave me.” The terror was seeping through the gaps in its cage, making its way to the surface, and she’d already taken his defenses down with her kisses._

_“Stop it.” She kissed his lips and his cheeks and down his jaw with tenacity and passion like she didn’t believe him. But when he rested his hand on her cheek, he caught a tear with his thumb._

_“Everyone dies. Everything turns to dust. But not me,” he breathed as her lips brushed over his collarbone._

_“I’m not.” She was angry. Flipped them over until she was towering above him, taking the authority he didn’t want to give her. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? You an’ me. There’s always a way.”_

_“Always,” he echoed as she joined them together, because he’d always do anything to comfort her, even if that meant lying through his teeth. He wanted her to be right more than anything, but he didn’t think she could be._

_He reached up and kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, but he was so gentle she didn’t fight him. Propped himself up to hold her closer as she started to move, supple curves against taut muscles and she wasn’t gentle at all but her body was so soft and warm it didn’t matter._

_She surrounded him until he forgot about his rules and her mortality. He consumed the promise of forever from her lips; their chests brushed hot and desperate together and it felt like something everlasting._

_Her hips were merciless and she finished first, teeth on his neck and nails deep in his shoulders, and she gasped his name and he knew those two gorgeous syllables would follow him into eternity._

_He couldn’t sleep a tick that night, but he hugged her close against his chest, his arms around her ribs just beneath her breasts and his face in her hair, calmed by the quiet rhythm of her breathing and the aroma of sex and vanilla on her skin. He warded away her nightmares while she recovered her strength, protected her from being taken by the universe for as long as she was asleep, until her bright eyes and wide smile inevitably greeted him in the morning._

_If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that eternity didn’t exist for anyone but him. But nothing had ever felt more like it_ should _last forever than holding her. No prospect in his sprawling, lonely future plagued him as ruthlessly as the certainty that he would lose that privilege before a paltry tenth of his life had passed._

_He squeezed a little tighter, closing his eyes and touching his lips to her temple, while his thumbs traced patterns into the smooth skin of her stomach. For at least one more night, she was with him, and he wasn’t going to waste it._

_\---_

Walking chained to four Ch’Kizor, he’s a thousand percent sure this was a terrible idea. A tiny part of him worries they’re taking him to an execution, rather than the leader they’ve been going on about. And as much as he thinks he’d welcome death over the constant solitude, he hasn’t given up hope that Rose will find him first. She’s better than he is, really. Smarter. Has that Earth gumption that’s he’s simply not wired with. And he doesn’t want to be dead if she makes it back to find him, provided this genius plan fails.

But then he learns that they’re sick. And whatever it is is selectively infecting children.

(Accidentally leaps for joy that making them happy could be so simple. Almost gets himself incinerated by laser on the spot.) But still, he tosses his poorly-thought-out plan out the window, and promises to help.

It’s simple enough for him to identify the infectious agent as a virus, but it’s a genetic sequence he’s never seen before. Getting a vaccine prepared could take months, even years, and he’d need to seriously brush up on his biochemistry. But a stint in medical research is a small price to pay, to have the light of his life in his arms again.

So he puts on his nitrile gloves and his brainy specs, holes himself up in the TARDIS lab and gets it done in an hour (local time, that is… it takes him about two weeks without sleep in his preferred Earth time).

They knew there was nothing he could do for those already infected, but they still make him wait too long, stuck on their biosphere, while they ensure he held up his end up the deal, that no one else falls ill.

\---

The Doctor looks around at the still, attentive faces of what feels like every member of the Ch’Kizor race around him, their eyes glued to where the TARDIS is parked, not a feather on their bodies stirring. He’s still not entirely sure what’s about to happen, but he’s becoming more and more worried whatever it is will compromise his most valuable (and only) possession in some way. And wondering why they still won’t let him inside of it.

But that’s when an amorphous blot of red materializes into view in midair, very close to the TARDIS, in sharp contrast to the fields of light blue grass filling the field they’re all spectators in. He doesn’t dare to step closer with the two wings to either side gripping his coat in warning, but he pulls out his glasses and flips them onto his face for dramatic effect, eyebrows low over his eyes as he fixes his gaze on the apparition.

It stretches and grows in random directions as though pulled by invisible hands or ropes, until a disfigured arm emerges as though from behind an invisibility filter, more and more of a mysterious figure revealing itself from, apparently, thin air. A head appears as though distorted by a bent mirror, a torso and two legs and feet until a three-dimensional hulk takes shape and touches the ground.

Every bit of its physiology morphs in every direction as the giant red thing steps towards the TARDIS, muscles of its arms and legs changing thickness like the ebb and flow of an ocean on a shoreline, the geometry of its head and hands fluctuating more quickly than its paces can keep up. The kaleidoscopic creature finally stands still next to the TARDIS, finally settling on a shape it seems to like.

It’s thick, taller than his ship, and would resemble one of Tolkieein’s cave trolls if it wasn’t a deep crimson, or if there were any features on its head. Instead there’s just a blank canvas, that reminds him of the face-stealing renegade alien from the 1950’s, and one of his hearts skips a beat.

But it reaches down and wraps beefy arms around the TARDIS, shapeshifting with the movement, and picks it up as easily as though it were actually just a simple, three-dimensional police box. And with just a single stride, it and the TARDIS shrink and disappear from view. With a furious yell, he surges forward, easily breaking free of the grip of both of his captors, sprinting through the empty field in hot pursuit.

But he runs in circles around where it disappeared, using the sonic to search for any residual energy signals it would’ve left if it used advanced technology to teleport itself and the TARDIS. But he comes up blank on all fronts. There’s simply nothing to find, no trace of his ship or any other life form. The creature had truly vanished.

None of the others have moved an inch to follow him, and he’s about to storm after their leader and demand retribution against the thief, when the TARDIS and its red captor emerge into view less than ten feet from where he stands. Setting it carefully onto the ground with a crunchy thud of grass, it uses two amoeboid fingers to tap on one of the doors of the TARDIS.

Inviting him inside.

And that’s when it finally clicks in his mind.

“Oh, I’m so thick!!!” He tugs hard on his hair with both hands even as he bolts to the TARDIS doors and leaps inside.

It’s not some sort of trans-dimensional device like a tesseract the Ch’Kizor have; they have an impossible connection to a proper, live four-dimensional being. What they’re seeing are mere cross-sections of its true form. Certainly not one of the regular 4-d polytopes he’s accustomed to, an irregular shape that he didn’t recognize at first. But it’s the only explanation.

By all accounts, he should be denying its existence as he did the physical manifestation of the Devil. Higher-dimensional creatures are things of religions and myths, a lot of smoke and mirrors and hearsay; he never thought he’d find one alive. But he’ll take what he can get, considering it’s a reunion with Rose on the line.

Maybe it’s a friendly demon, grateful that Rose took out their evil overlord. More than likely, he’ll never know.

He leaves the door open, clutching it between his fingers and waving out at the crowd of avians tilting their heads on the blue grass, just as the floor of the TARDIS lurches beneath him and it all disappears from view, replaced with the vivid images of a thousand different settings flickering in and out of existence one per second.

A thousand worlds hear the ecstatic, victorious laughter that echoes out the doors.

\---

He’d given himself four hours, to be on the safe side. Didn’t want to risk finding her before she’d seen him on the beach, but wanted even less to make her wait for him as long as it took him to find her.

But the only place he’s certain he’ll find her is the mansion, and that’s at least a two-day drive.

So he parks the TARDIS a few hundred feet from the nearest hotel, four hours after their two minutes were up.

He runs faster than he’s ever done, even considering his impressive track record for it in this latest, leanest model, the impact of every sharp thud of his trainers on the asphalt rattling every bone in his legs. One of the few vehicles in the small car park catches his eyes – the large, green jeep from the beach – and he pushes off the ground even faster. Breaks the cheap, old front door of the establishment off its hinges when he pries it open with both hands, sending the single attendant at the front desk into a shouting frenzy with a bit more profanity than he’d expect.

The Doctor apologizes but the man can’t hear him over the sound of his impassioned admonishment. He finally demands that he pay for the replacement and the Doctor quickly agrees, knowing he’ll be able to reattach it in no time, and he finally calms down.

“Listen! I just need to know what room the Tylers are in. T-y-l…”

The host goes off again, citing several reasons why he can’t give out the room number of their guests to random men who walk inside.

An elevator ding sounds from behind him, coupled with the noisy slide of metal doors, and the Doctor turns back to the lobby. A single blonde waits behind the doors as they thud into the slot.

She’s still in the same clothes, her cheeks are still red and there’s still salt water and makeup running down her eyes, but she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh, my God,” he hears her whisper from across the room, defeat in her voice.

“Rose,” he calls, frozen in place.

“Doctor, are you…” she hesitates, swallowing back a cry. She doesn’t take a step towards him, and he understands her fear. He can’t see fresh tears, not now that he can stop them.

He leaps into motion and rushes through the lobby, hopping over two couches, clearing a large decorative table and knocking over two floor lamps in the crowded path to the elevator.

“Are you still just a projection?” she asks when he skids to a stop on the carpet a foot from the door, taking in her beauty up close and replacing his dimmed, faded image of her from his memory with her golden, perfect reality. The doors start to grind closed but he pushes them back with his arm.

“No.” He shakes his head and lunges forward, lifting her off the ground and sealing his lips over hers in a single movement. He stumbles a little with the added weight and they fall against the back wall of the tiny room, but it gives him the leverage he needs to deepen the kiss and they both moan (rather indecently).

Her legs around his waist and arms around his neck, she pours her soul into her kiss and warmth seeps into his chest and he feels _whole_. Comforted and at home for the first time in so long that it consumes every sense and thought that even his big Time Lord brain can allot to any one moment.

He’s so lost in the task of responding to her movements and re-acquainting himself with the soft, sweet contours of her lips that he almost doesn’t feel the moisture soaking into his cheeks. But it reminds him of his other priority, the one he’s been dreaming about since the second she faded from view.

He waits until she needs a breath of air, and pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against hers with light pressure, touching his nose against hers a couple times before meeting her eyes. Barely an inch away, still pink with tears and rimmed with smeared mascara, but so full of life and affection that one of his hearts palpitates again.

“I love you.” He speaks at normal volume so there’s no chance of misunderstanding. It’s so brilliant to finally say it, like throwing off a heavy, overheated duvet that’s been choking him for hours. Air flows freely in and out of his lungs now, the darkness and constant anxiety are lifted with three simple words. Better than anything, though, is the twinkle in her eyes and the effervescent smile that spreads across her lips at the delayed confession.

“Took you long enough.” She chuckles, but her breath catches as new tears cascade down her cheeks.

“Oh, don’t cry, Rose,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the droplets on her cheeks before they can fall.

“No, ‘s… they’re ‘appy tears, now.”

“Such a human thing to do, crying when you’re happy.”

“Shut up,” she teases, lips turning up again.

He covers her mouth with his, but she keeps smiling into his kiss.

The snog gets a little too passionate again, because neither of them notices the movement of the elevator, or the doors closing and opening three times. A bloke clearing his throat wrenches them apart, and Rose drops her feet back down to the floor.

“Hello,” Rose calls politely to the family of three children waiting at the elevator doors, wiping her mouth not-very-discreetly with her sleeve.

“Hi,” the Doctor adds, with an awkward nod of his head.

The strangers pile into the elevator in front of them, not without both adults giving him an icy glare like he’s some sort of sexual predator before turning to face the doors, but Rose cuddles into his side and he forgets that they exist at all.

“How did you even do it? It’s only been a few hours. How’d you figure it out?”

“Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. But it’s been about three months for me.”

“Three months? Doctor, I’m sorry…” She reaches up on her toes to kiss his cheek, but he turns his head so she pecks him on the lips instead. She laughs at his new forwardness and pulls him in for a hug, burying her face in his coat.

“Oh, three months is no time at all. Besides, I’m here now.”

She hums into his jacket. “’S true.”

“So, what do you think? Round everyone up, back to the TARDIS? There’s someone you’ve _really_ got to meet.”

\---

“Rose,” he mumbles against her hair just before he loses consciousness.

“Mmm,” she barely acknowledges him, the hand on his hip twitching.

“Want to sleep in here every night?” he asks.

She inhales sharply, tilting her head up slowly and squinting her eyes open until she can barely see his face. “Wha’?”

“Stay. With me. Every night.” His eyes droop a little. “If you want.”

“I’d really like that.” She kisses his chest. Twice. And again. Softer and softer until her lips rest parted against his skin, soft warm breaths of sleep rhythmic over his hearts.

He falls asleep in her embrace, for the first time in weeks, without the plague of nightmares. And without the sweet dreams of the past few months, because don’t compare to his reality now, to be able to hold her in his arms again, her soft, bare warmth pressed against his. (He swears he can sense it, even when he’s asleep, a gently flickering light that keeps all the darkness in his mind at bay.)

If a dimensional divide can’t separate them, then mismatched mortality won’t be able to, either. He’s just starting to believe Rose when she tells him they’ll find a way. Just starting to believe in forever.


End file.
